Loki sat statuesque in one of the chairs in his chambers. Around him, the maiden Sigyn paced around, examining the prince's untouched chambers as if rating them on livability, like any woman would. It was an awkward first meeting, and Loki was having difficulties grasping the fact the Odin, despite the terror Loki had caused on earth, still had promised to another realm his youngest son's hand in marriage. His betrothed now walked about his chambers, her young and innocent beauty an unfamiliar light in the darkness of Loki's rooms. His eyes, low and dark, followed the maiden as she walked, watching the way her chiffon dress clung to her body. He saw her golden tresses and remembered briefly a childhood moment when he had cut such hair from Sif's sleeping head in an act of spite. Her skin was bronze with the sun, her cheeks rosy and full of life. Her eyes were blue as sapphires and full of light. Her fingers knit together behind her back, tangling and re-tangling themselves as Loki watched her eyes trace the lines of the vaulted ceiling, moving to the stitch in the emerald-colored spread across the bed, and finally to the cold, pale face of her betrothed. Loki did not return the stare, letting his gaze fall to the floor.

Sigyn sat across from the man who in less than a week would be her husband. Her first impression of Loki had been wrought when she saw him land in Asgard with Thor, his hands bound and mouth sealed by a silencing device. At that moment, she felt fear, for she thought she had been sent to marry a monster who needed to be chained. But now, as she looked upon the lost prince, her heart began to soften for him. The muzzle had fallen away to reveal features fine and almost gaunt. Although his body had been nearly replenished since his return to Asgard, he still seemed as if at any moment he could break in two. Every time she looked at them, his eyes seemed to change color, though if she had to name one she would say green. Beneath his eyes the skin was dark and shadowy with a weariness Sigyn had never imagined any person could bear. Loki Odinsson, although she knew the prince was not truly Odin's, was nothing beside beautiful. A beautiful mess, she thought. A task needing to be undertaken, a puzzle needing to be solved. So, so desperately, too.

Loki felt the maiden's blue eyes burn into his skin. Her stare was unwavering, and the two sat in silence for nearly a half hour before one spoke. Loki shifted, letting his gaze trail from a spot on the floor to the beautiful face of Sigyn. He took a breath, and paused, almost as if he was going to speak. But after a moment, he exhaled, thinking of nothing to say to the poor girl. His mind only conjured thoughts of how he was going to do nothing but take her innocence and destroy her. There was nothing else he could do, or knew to do. He had lost the capability to love a long while ago, though he couldn't remember when. Remnants of this lost feeling, or thing—he didn't know what to call it—still hung in his mind on the shadowed rafters of hate he had built. They knit together sometimes when he saw the face of his mother, Frigga, or even when Thor's arm kept him from collapsing, and became love. But only for a frenzied second. He didn't know if he could mend those remnants again and again for this girl.

"I have heard you are not truly of Asgard, but a Jotun-." Sigyn's voice broke the silence.

"I deny that existence—that part of me." Loki spat. Sigyn had picked an interesting first topic, Loki thought. The beautiful gold of the girl's waving locks seemed to glow in the low light of the chamber. The prince's thoughts blurred for a moment as his eyes were distracted by them.

"Then you count yourself Asgardian?"

"I deny that as well."

"Then what are you, Loki son-of-nothing?" Sigyn asked calmly, her tone not losing its sweetness and utter innocence. Loki seethed at the sound of it. Why would Odin grant such a thing to him? Such a small object of beauty she was, selfless and full of nothing but purity. How could Odin turn this white flower over to such a tortured, rotting soul as Loki's?

Loki was silent for a moment. "I am myself," he said, icy pang in his voice, "I am a god."

"The God of Mischief." Sigyn recognized. She said it so plainly, Loki felt his lips twitch. She called him a god when others would not.

"And why did my fath- why did Odin bring you here to wed me? How could you ever be a match to me? You are just a girl, silly with thoughts of spring love and the white of wedding gowns. I will ruin you. You're not even a gode-."

"Of Fidelity," the girl stopped him, "I am Sigyn, the Goddess of Fidelity, as dubbed by Odin. I am the goddess of faithfulness and devotion and loyalty. At first I think it odd that the Goddess of Fidelity is to be bound in life to the God of Mischief. In what realm would that union come to be were it not for the hand of Odin? But I see now the Allfather's reasons. You are lost, and you need someone of purest devotion to guide you back. No matter what you say or believe, Loki Odinsson of Asgard."

Loki thought for a moment. "You are wrong, girl," he said, voice acidic, "I will break you, no matter how faithful you are, from your path. I cannot… I'm… I will only hurt you. Do not marry me. I warn you now. I am not fit to marry a rock." At that, Loki's voice trembled. His eyes flashed up to hers, embarrassed at the fact he had spoken true thoughts to the girl. Her face did not change.

Sigyn was quiet for a moment before she drew in a sharp breath and spoke, calmly. "I am to believe you are only a shade of yourself, Loki. Your mother has told me of when you used to smile and laugh as freely as Thor, when you knew happiness and light," she said, "Loki, you need not truly love me yourself to let me help you, but you must let me love you. I have no other option." Sigyn said, her voice almost desperate. She already loved him. Others only saw the broken madness that was Loki, but Sigyn was beginning to see the only thing Loki truly was: a lost soul.

"But I am the God of Mischief. It is my nature." Loki replied, although he knew this woman was winning already.

"No, no… you are not the God of Mischief now. There is too much hate and chaos behind your eyes to call you that. We will heal you, Loki, piece by piece. My task is to return you to what you once were; not the God of Evil, but the God of Mischief. This is my task. Our task."

"And what a task it will be." Loki replied, his voice involuntarily taking on a tone of menace.